The jet door opened. Morning sunlight flooded in—Norvale sunlight, Norvale air, the first time in three years Emily had breathed the air of her home country.
She descended the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. Her feet touched Norvale soil and she felt overwhelming emotion—grief for her parents, fury at Marcus, hope for the future, terror about what came next.
Rodriguez was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by operators providing security perimeter.
"Princess Emily," Rodriguez said formally, bowing slightly. "Welcome home. Your convoy is ready. We depart for the capital immediately."
Emily looked around at the organized chaos—operators coordinating positions, vehicles idling with engines running, helicopters maintaining overwatch position.
"This looks like a military operation," Emily observed.
